Run For Your Life
by Chapter18
Summary: Alfred is kidnapped by people who claim to know who, and what, he is. The Nations are sent into hiding for their own safety. Arthur intends, somehow, to rescue Alfred. Francis intends to help him. But something sinister is going on beneath the surface, and the Nations are in more danger than they think. Rated T for language/some dark themes. No pairings - well, slight USUK :P
1. Chapter 1

**Hahaha, so... I'm sorry about "A French Canadian Matchmaking Service." I've been kind of busy recently... I will continue that story, hopefully, at some point, but in the meantime - here's something I've been planning to write for a while and do intend to keep working on - honestly! **

**This is going to be a bit of a strange story, I think, but I'll see how it goes. Sorry for any typos, grammar fails etc. Hope you like it! Reviews would be awesome :)**

**- Chapter18**

"I understand your theory, Dr Callahan, but as far as proof is concerned…"

Alfred drifted in and out of consciousness, the sound of muffled voices cutting through the fog in his head.

"With luck, sir, I should be able to provide all the proof you needs. If these experiments go as I predict they will then…"

He forced his eyes open, and quickly shut them again as he was nearly blinded by a harsh, glaring light.

"Then you will have found an inexplicable phenomena - inexplicable but for superstition and fairy stories. Proof won't matter at all, because nobody is going to believe something like this. It is impossible."

Where was he? Who were those voices? Who were they talking about? Jeez, just thinking seemed to hurt. He badly wanted to go back to sleep.

The voices had gone. Maybe if he opened his eyes again he'd be in his own bed, back home, and all this was just some crazy dream. As far as dreams went, it wasn't a very good one. Kind of annoying, actually.

Slowly, he attempted to open his eyes…

Argh, that horrible light again. He squinted through it and tried to sit up, only to find that he couldn't. Something was holding him down.

Right, if this was a dream, he was about to get really mad at his own subconscious. And if it wasn't…

"You should probably check on the specimen, Dr Callahan, I expect it will wake up at any minute."

There were those voices again. Well, one of them. And that meant there were other people here somewhere. Dream or not, he could really use some help right now.

"Hey!" He tried calling out. There was no response, except for quick, muffled footsteps somewhere to his left. He tried again. "Hello? Can anyone tell me where the hell I am?!" He tried struggling against whatever it was that held him down. Suddenly, the bright light vanished and a flat black rectangle appeared, just above his face. There was a mechanical bleeping sound, and the screen blinked into life.

"PLEASE REMAIN CALM"

The bright red letters were accompanied by a cold, automated voice. It was about the least calming thing Alfred could think of.

"I'm not gonna "remain calm" until somebody tells me what's going on!" He shouted at the screen, wriggling around some more to no avail.

"PLEASE REMAIN CALM" The voice said again, then in smaller, less urgent letters "Processing request:"

"Jeez, finally." Alfred was beginning to feel slightly silly, talking to a computer screen. "Um… thankyou."

"CLASSIFIED: CANNOT DISCLOSE DATA" The urgent all-caps were back, this time flashing and accompanied by a loud beeping sound.

"What?!" He felt like punching the screen. If only his arms weren't locked to his sides.

"Please remain calm." Said a soft, female voice that was definitely human. Alfred really wasn't in the mood to do as it said.

"Your computer thingy told me that twice already! What the hell is going on? Why can't I move?"

"You've activated the data protection alarm." The female voice answered calmly. "Please give me a moment."

There was a faint click, and the beeping stopped. The letters on screen faded back into blackness.

"As for why you can't move," the woman continued, "I'm very sorry, but we had to take necessary precautions to prevent your escape."

"My escape?" He could feel himself getting more and more angry by the second. And scared, too, though he could never admit that even to himself. "You… you kidnapped me!"

The woman didn't reply.

"What do you want, a ransom or something?! You can't just kidnap me like this! I… I know the president!" Alfred screamed at his own reflection in the screen in front of him. He jumped as it suddenly blinked into life again, showing the image of a grey haired man with sharp features fixed in a cold, professional stare.

"We are all too aware of your political connections, Mr Jones," The man said, a slight smile playing at the corners of his cruel, thin lips. "As it happens, we know exactly who you are."

Before Alfred could open his mouth to react, everything faded into darkness.

…

It was raining. Of course. Typical Grande Bretagne, Francis thought to himself as he drove through the suburbs of London. How did Arthur stand it, with weather like this? Well, there were rumours that the Brit had gone insane a long time ago, and Francis wouldn't be surprised in the slightest if this constant rain was the cause.

His mind wandered as he drove down street after street of dull little houses, the city skyline looming ahead of him. Why, exactly, had this "Emergency meeting" been called? They'd met just last week, in the same building he was headed to now, to discuss Alistair's campaign for independence. He should have seen that one coming, really – the two brothers could barely stand each other. He chuckled a little as he realised that without Alistair, Arthur would have to take all the blue out of that ridiculously pompous flag he loved so much. Arthur's sense of style had always been terrible – didn't he realise that simple stripes were so much more chic these days. Arthur would probably say that the tricolour pattern was overused, but of course, it was fashion, no?

Ugh, traffic. Francis slowed the car to a halt at the back of a seemingly endless queue. Damn the British and their queues. He'd be late for the meeting at this rate. He reached for his phone, lying on the seat beside him, to call Arthur and let him know. Just as he did so, the phone started ringing.

He picked it up and wedged it between his shoulder and his ear as he grabbed the wheel. The queue had picked the worst time to start moving again.

"Salut? C'est Francis qui parle."

"Hello, Francis, it's Arthur."

"Ah, Angleterre, I was just about to call you! I'm running late…"

"Listen, the meeting's been moved – we're not holding it at the conference building anymore. Just head to my house, okay?"

Francis sighed. There had better be a good reason for this change of location. Arthur's house was back the way he'd come, on the very outskirts of the city. He looked behind him at the line of cars now blocking his way.

"I'm trapped in a queue ce moment. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Alright, hurry."

"Mon dieu, fine, don't get your knickers all twisted, oui?"

"Bloody Frog."

Arthur hung up, and Francis put the phone down. The queue was back in deadlock, stretching way, way ahead of him. It was going to take a long while until he could turn around and start heading for Arthur's.

Damn the British and their sudden changing of plans.

…

Arthur looked at the motley crew of nations now gathered around his dining room table. They were all dressed for an official meeting, and here he was still in his dressing gown and pyjamas. He'd been so busy calling them all to explain the change of location that there'd been no time to get dressed. Not that it really mattered - this was an emergency.

He opened his mouth about to say, "I expect you're all wondering why I've gathered you here today." Then realised that sounded both ridiculous and slightly sinister, and closed his mouth again.

"So, what is this meeting about?" Asked Ludwig suddenly and bluntly. Breaking the heavy silence that had now been hanging over the room for about half an hour.

Arthur cleared his throat.

"Gentlemen, I'm afraid we have a problem." He began, "You may have noticed that, aside from the unusual location of this meeting, one member of are usual party is not with us today."

"Vee, Germany, can we have a party!" Feliciano interrupted at the sound of the word. Ludwig silenced him with a glare.

"This is serious, Feli. Someone is missing."

"Yeah, but who is it?" Vash cut in from the back corner of the room. All at once the nations began looking around, questioning each other, searching for this mysterious absentee. Arthur watched in exasperation.

"Sacre bleu! Has no-one else noticed?" Francis yelled, and the growing chatter and panic suddenly feel silent, "Arthur, where is Amerique?"

Realisation struck. The word "America" now bounced around the room like an echo, in about 20 different languages. Arthur cleared his throat again.

"America has gone missing." He said abruptly, "We don't know where he is or whether he his safe, but before we assume the worst," – Feli had already started quietly sobbing – "I must explain a few things."

All eyes in the room were fixed on Arthur as he continued.

"Firstly, why are we holding this meeting in my dining room? I received a call from the Prime Minister this morning, insisting that I go into hiding as soon as possible, and that all other nations do the same. Alfred's government think they have identified the kidnappers and, to put it bluntly, we are all in extreme danger."

Feli had started wailing out loud now. Ludwig put his arm around the Italian's shoulder to comfort him. Kuki sat on their right, looking slightly awkward and wearing a concerned expression. Suddenly he spoke up:

"Igirisu-san, have you been told who there kidnappers are?"

Arthur hesitated. No, he hadn't been told anything. Just that they were extremely dangerous, and they had taken Alfred. He had no idea what they might do to him, or even if he was still alive…

He mentally sapped himself. Of course Alfred would be alright. He was always alright – he had this uncanny ability to get out of even the worst situations unscathed.

"No," he replied, "I haven't been told who they are, or what they want."

"I won't stand for that!" Vash shouted, "We have the right to know, they're withholding important information!"

"If we don't know who they are, why should we hide? How do you know it isn't all a conspiracy, aru?" Yao piped up.

"Maybe they just want us all out of the way for some horrible reason." Ivan suggested with a serene smile.

"Or perhaps the scone-bastard knows and just doesn't want to tell us!"

"I really doubt there is any conspiracy going on here."

"Oh yeah? Prove it, potato-bastard!"

"Vee, fratello, don't get angry."

"WOULD YOU ALL JUST SHUT UP!" Arthur found himself screaming. This was what they always did, fight and bicker amongst themselves as though any problem could be solved if enough insults were thrown around. Normally, he'd be there in the thick of it all, caught up in the pointless fighting. Today though, he saw not his friends, enemies and colleagues, but a bunch of complete mindless idiots who didn't understand the seriousness of their situation.

The room had fallen silent again. His guests had frozen on the spot, mid-rabble. Lovino was still clutching Ludwig's shirt collar in one hand. Vash looked as though he'd been caught in the midst of rallying a revolution. Yao's arms hung still in the air where a second ago he'd been waving them fantically around, while Ivan sat behind him, still with that eerie, serene smile.

They looked, Arthur realised, like a bunch of toddlers, fighting over the best spot in the sandpit. These were supposed to be great, proud nations, strong, fearless and wise. Now one of them was missing, and all they could do was act like madmen while Alfred could be in mortal peril, or – the thought hit Arthur with the force of a speeding freight train – or dead.

"You're all idiots!" Arthur heard himself shout, "Bloody morons, every one of you. Our friend and fellow nation is gone, we are all in grave danger and look at you! As it happens, I was going to propose a plan for his rescue, or at least to find out if he is alive, but I think it's better if we all go into hiding and stay there until this is over – after all, its clear that you care far more about ourselves and our own safety that you do about Alfred."

Anger was boiling up inside him. How could they be so selfish? How could he have ever expected them not to be?

"Well done, everybody," He spat with cutting sarcasm, "You've managed to make a mess of everything. This meeting is officially adjourned, you can all go home and find somewhere to hide. Oh, and try not to bicker too much about whether the cupboard would be better than under the table."

Without waiting for his guests' response, Arthur turned and walked out of the dining room, ignoring the rising sound of confused and insulted voices behind him. He didn't have time for any of them anymore. Alfred was gone and they didn't care. Probably glad to be rid of the annoying ex-colony, just like he should be. They were probably wondering why he seemed so angry, why he wasn't celebrating and announcing drinks all round. Well, there were a lot of things people didn't know about Arthur Kirkland, and one of them was that he cared far more than he let on, and far more than any sane person should about Alfred Jones.

…

"Angleterre?"

Francis pressed his ear to the study door and tried calling again.

"Angleterre, please, let me in."

"Go away, frog."

Ah, so he is in there, Francis thought. Once the others had finally left, he'd tried most of the rooms in the house, searching for Arthur. He'd not seen the Brit act this way for a long time. Arthur might be known for his furious outbursts but Francis knew this was different. What was it? "A gentleman never loses his composure in front of his guests." Arthur had told him once. He'd had to host a meeting, right after Alfred's revolution – and he'd explained the whole thing calmly, solemnly, all he while with the boy he'd lost watching him intently from across the table. Francis had been shocked by how well he seemed to be taking things.

Until he broke down afterwards. Only Francis had been around to see that. They'd known each other for long enough that he no longer really counted as a guest.

"Angleterre, please. I'm sorry the meeting went so badly."

"Oh, you are, are you? That's great. Now GO AWAY."

Merde, this was going to be difficult. How to get an angry, upset and probably embarrassed Englishman to leave his room? It was no easy task. A long time ago all it would have taken were a few soft words and perhaps a little well-meaning bribery – but Arthur hadn't been a child for a very long time.

A memory floated into his mind – the war. It wasn't often he thought about it. The day he'd finally been forced to give in to Germany. He was broken and Arthur had tried his best to fix him. With what? A cup of tea, of course. That was the British answer to everything.

Tea.

"Arthur..?" He called softly through the door. He could hear faint sobbing on the other side.

"Bloody, hell, didn't I tell you to leave?"

"I'm going to put the kettle on."

"I don't give a damn if you… what?"

"I said, I'm going to put the kettle on. And then we're going to figure out a way of saving Amerique. D'accord?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter two! I have to say a HUGE thank you to steampunk_crow, without her awesome ideas this chapter would not have been published so quickly, and thanks to her I now have some idea of a plot! So yeah, go read some of steampunk_crow's fics! Anyway, this is the chapter in which stuff starts happening :O There's not as much focus on the nations here, mostly on some new characters (Can I call them OCs? Yay I have OCs!) who are kind of important to the story.**

**But I'll stop rambling now :P Here's Chapter two. Reviews would be welcome :)**

**- Chapter18**

Dr Maria Callahan watched as the roof of the DNA-scan system lowered itself over the unconscious body of the young man. This was the latest technology, kept top secret for only the most crucial of experiments. And yet it seemed so wrong, to use it on someone, experiment on them against their will and with no explanation. This wasn't what she'd expected after being recruited for the project. She had always dreamed of being a scientist, but only now she was beginning to realise how cruel this profession could be.

She'd studied biology so that she could do something good for the world. Cure a disease, solve world hunger – the sort of childish dreams that everyone starts out with. And, of course, she'd wanted to solve the mystery of the nations.

That was why she was here, after all.

The young man lying in front of her – now hidden by the gleaming white shell of the scanner – was impossible. He couldn't be more than 19 years old, but somehow he wasn't. He wasn't even human. He was a Nation. He was America.

"America." To most people, the word simply described a landmass, or perhaps a people and culture. To most people, it brought to mind a jigsaw puzzle image of fifty brightly coloured states that might have hung on the wall of an elementary school classroom. Red, white and blue. The stars and stripes. The Statue of Liberty.

But to Dr Callahan, the word meant a tall young man with sandy blonde hair and bright blue eyes. The cheerful stranger who'd spoken to her while she waited for her dad to fetch something from his office, 17 years ago. The impossible boy, who hadn't aged a day when she met him again in Central Park 16 years later.

It had been Dr Callahan's story as much as her knowledge of genetics that had led to her being chosen to work on the project. Of course, there were many people who claimed to have seen or met Nations – but she was an intelligent, rationally minded scientific prodigy. No one could laugh her off is delirious, drunk or insane. She had helped to find the boy from her memories, and she had agreed to perform these experiments. It had all been so exciting.

All that excitement now seemed to have gone, replaced by inexplicable guilt and fear. She'd been told that all the project aimed to do was prove the Nations existence and reveal the truth to the world. But recently she had begun as though something was being kept from her, some dark secret or conspiracy…

No, it was probably just paranoia. She was far to logical to believe in conspiracy theories. This was her dream, wasn't it? To study the nations and prove their existence once and for all.

So why did it feel so wrong?

The scanner bleeped and buzzed in front of her, tiny blue lights flashing along the side. It was almost easy to forget that there was a human being trapped inside there, not just some specimen to be studied and analysed.

Lawson would say that "human being" was a poor choice of words. It was the way he talked about him – the Nation – that unnerved her. He wouldn't ever say him, only "it." As though this boy was something less than human, like the bacteria she'd grown on agar plates at university. Lawson was not a scientist, but he prided himself on cold logic so much that she sometimes felt he would be better at her job than she was herself. She'd never once seen him show emotion, let alone smile…

A harsh voice crackled through the lab intercom, startling her out of her thoughts.

"Could Dr Callahan please report to Mr Lawson's office immediately. The results of the DNA-scan have come through."

She hurried out of the door, as behind her the roof of the scanner system slowly began to rise, and white-coated lab assistants scurried into the room to remove the "specimen."

She walked quickly down the corridor towards Lawson's office, the image of a smiling young man with bright blue eyes floating in the back of her mind.

…

Arthur sat at one end of his kitchen table, clutching a mug of hot tea in both hands, every so often taking a sip to test the temperature. Francis sat across from him, wearing that "concerned older brother" expression that he hadn't seen in a very long while. He'd forgotten how much he couldn't stand that look.

"Thankyou," he muttered grudgingly, nodding towards the mug of tea before taking another careful sip. Francis smiled.

"It seems know how cheer up an upset Englishman, non?"

""Cheer up" is a bit of an overstatement." Arthur grumbled. He wasn't "cheered up" at all – it was only that he could never deny the offer of tea, particularly from a normally inconsiderate Frenchman who had never even thought to make such an offer before.

"Well, at least now we can discuss the matter of our petit Monde-Nouveau, oui?" Francis suggested. The use of the childhood pet name startled Arthur, though he tried not to show it. Francis had not referred to Alfred that way since the boy was a colony.

"There isn't really much we can do," Arthur said pessimistically, "We don't know where he is, who took him…"

"And your government will tell you nothing?" Francis asked. Arthur took another, larger sip from his mug before answering.

"Like I said, I've only been told that they are dangerous. And they're after Nations, but that's obvious." He took another gulp of tea, "Nothing else."

There was a loud clatter from outside the kitchen. Both heads turned towards the direction of the sound.

"C'etait quoi?"

"Probably just the post arriving."

Francis started to get up from his chair. Arthur quickly stood up and put down his mug of tea. He might be upset, but he could get his own post by himself, thank you very much.

"I'll get it, this is my house after all."

He walked out of the kitchen and down the hall to the front door. A single white envelope lay on the doormat.

He bent down to pick it up, then stopped. What if it was some kind of letter bomb?

Don't be ridiculous, he thought to himself, this address is top-secret, and a letter bomb couldn't kill you anyway, you're a Nation.

He picked up the envelope and checked the address on the back, surprised to find that there wasn't one. Instead, four black letters were printed in block capitals – N.E.I.S.

It wasn't an acronym that he'd ever seen before. Curiosity growing, he tore open the envelop and unfolded the letter inside.

_Dear Mr Kirkland,_

_We are aware of your connections to one Alfred F. Jones, citizen of the United States of America. It may interest you to know that we are also aware of both his and your, how shall I put it… Nationality._

_I am sure you are concerned about the whereabouts and current condition of Mr Jones following his recent disappearance. If you wish to find out, come to Heathrow Airport at ten o'clock on the morning of May 13__th__. You shall meet my colleague and I in the business class departure lounge of American Airways. Please be warned that if you do not follow these instructions, we cannot guarantee the safety of your friend._

_Sincerely, _

_F.L_

_(Head of N.E.I.S, American branch.)_

Arthur finished reading the letter, staring at the neatly printed page in shock. This was blackmail! These people knew where Alfred was – they were almost certainly connected to the kidnappers. And they wanted him to meet them at Heathrow Airport, tomorrow.

It was a trap, of course it was. Or at the very least, he'd be forced to make some kind of terrible bargain. But if he didn't go…

_Please be warned… we cannot guarantee the safety of your friend._

That was a threat – carefully concealed, but a threat alright. If he didn't go, they would harm Alfred. He couldn't allow that to happen.

"Angleterre?" Francis called from the kitchen, "Is everything alright?"

Arthur walked slowly back down the hall, holding the letter out in front of him, reading it over and over.

"Francis, you need to read this. We're being blackmailed."

…

Lawson's office was spotless, everything perfectly organised and neatly shelved. It was also empty, completely free of the sort of useless clutter that usually littered office desks and cabinets. It was things like this that made Dr Callahan consider the possibility that her boss was some kind of robot. The silver-haired man who sat behind the desk, watching her enter through sharp, calculating eyes, could have certainly passed for an android if he wanted to.

"Dr Callahan, the printed results of the DNA-scan have just been delivered to me," he gestured to a few sheets of paper that were about the only thing lying on his desk, besides a closed laptop, "I must say, I'm amazed by the speed and efficiency of the process."

"It is the latest technology, sir." Dr Callahan pointed out. She always called Lawson "sir" – he was the sort of man that made you afraid of what he might do to either you or your career if you didn't.

"I've called you here because I believe you can explain to me how this constitutes as proof of our specimen's identity."

"I'm sure I can, sir."

"Very good," Lawson said, folding his hands on the desk in front of him, "However, there is something I must explain to you first. I fear you have not yet been told the whole truth about the aim of these experiments."

"To prove the existence of the nations is what I was told, sir."

"And of course that is part of it. Dr Callahan, before I can continue this conversation, you must swear on record that you will continue your work on this project until its final goal is reached."

Dr Callahan stared at her superior in horror.

"Before I have been told what that goal is, sir? Surely that's…"

"If you choose not to continue, your involvement in and your knowledge of this project will be terminated, by whatever means necessary." For the first time, Dr Callahan though she saw the ghost of a smile playing at the corners of Lawson's mouth. She'd never felt more scared by a smile in her life.

"So," Lawson continued, flicking up the screen of his laptop and tapping a few keys, "When I click this button, the computer will begin recording everything you and I say, and you will swear your loyalty to this project. Do you understand?"

Dr Callahan nodded silently. She could feel her hands shaking. There was a faint click, and Lawson turned from the computer screen to her with that cold, unnerving stare.

"Dr Maria Callahan, do you swear to continue your studies on the behalf of the N.E.I.S project, regardless of its ultimate goal?"

She hesitated for a moment, then forced herself to reply.

"Yes."

"Do you swear to keep all research top-secret and confidential?"

"Yes."

"And do you swear both of the above, Dr Callahan, on your life?"

Her eyes widened in fear as she heard the final words. There was no way out, no other option.

"I do."

…

Half an hour later, Frederick Lawson sat at his desk, scrolling through emails on laptop screen. The girl had done exactly as he had hoped she would, of course. He couldn't have allowed her to know the truth about this project without being certain of her loyalty, and equally he couldn't allow her not to continue her studies.

She seemed distressed, of course. He had warned her about forming any "emotional attachments" to the specimen. The foolish girl still believed that their intentions were cruel and inhumane. Ridiculous. This work was for the good of all humanity. Dr Callahan was bright enough, surely she could see that?

His gaze landed on an email address he had never seen before, but he instantly knew the identity of the sender. He opened the message.

_Dear M.L,_

_I have received your letter. I will meet you at Heathrow Airport tomorrow morning, along with a friend and colleague of my own. I trust you will keep to your word and inform us of Alfred's whereabouts and condition._

_Sincerely,_

_A. Kirkland_

"Alfred", not "Mr Jones." Very interesting.

Lawson closed the message, reached for the intercom microphone and switched it on.

"Message for Dr Callahan: Please be packed and prepared for a transatlantic flight at 1am tomorrow morning. A taxi will be sent to pick you up. Bring the results from the DNA-scan that were given to you. This is not optional, consider it an order."

**A/N:**

**"Petit Monde-Nouveau" means "Little New World." It's my headcanon that Francis called America this when he was little :3**


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